


Explicit Instructions

by stillscape



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:32:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU for the episode "Article Two."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explicit Instructions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ.

For some reason, Andy hadn’t turned the car on yet. 

“Dude, are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked. “Because Leslie gave us very explicit instructions for this challenge…which I do not currently have, because I lost the paper, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to have any contact with the ‘modern world.’” He put air quotes around the last two words. “That Garth guy’s really acting like there isn’t a modern world at all. It’s really weird.” 

“Yes, I’m sure I want to go through with this,” Ben said, deliberately ignoring the rest of it. “Let’s go. Oh, and let’s take your sunglasses off before you drive me somewhere at night.” 

Andy removed his sunglasses. “That cabin’s super old and boring.” 

“And dirty,” April chimed in. “But you probably like that, don’t you? Freak.” 

Ben, who didn’t care to think about what their house probably looked like now that he’d been gone for months, chose to ignore her. “History isn’t _boring_ ,” he countered. “Besides, _Leslie’s_ in there.” 

It wasn’t until April and Andy both turned around from the front seat to look at him—Andy giggling, April mock-vomiting—that he realized he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. April was thinking something about _him_ being old and boring, he was sure of it. 

“Yeah, like I don’t know what you do at night—never mind. Can we just go to the cabin already?” 

“Aye aye, chief,” Andy said, throwing a hasty salute before he put the car in gear. 

April extended a hand. “I have to confiscate your cell phone.” 

“No.” 

Andy twisted his arm into the backseat without looking. “No electronic devices in the cabin, Ben.” 

“Not until the plane has reached an altitude of 35,000 feet,” said April. 

“You’re not part of Leslie’s ridiculous challenge. Neither of you are.”

April shrugged. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t want Leslie to lose on a technicality, would you?”

“I’m not part of the challenge either.” 

She raised an eyebrow, and Ben sighed and handed over his cell phone anyway. 

“I better get that back in the same condition it’s in now,” he told her. 

“Only if you agree to divorce Leslie.” 

“No!” Screw it. He lunged for the front seat. 

Several blocks and a lot of shrieking later, Andy swerved halfway across the double yellow lines. Thankfully, no one was driving to or from the cabin at this time of night. 

“Whoa,” he said. “Okay, you two stop or I’m pulling over.” 

“Ben started it.” 

“I did not.” 

Andy shook his head. “April, give me Ben’s phone. Ben, I promise not to break your phone while you’re having sex in the cabin.” 

“Who said I was going to—just give me the phone back.” 

“Nope,” Andy said, firmly. “No electronic devices in 1817.”

Ben slumped against the window. “You do know we’re not actually going to 1817, right?” 

“Oh, I know. Leslie knows that too. I’m not sure about the other guy, though.” 

They drove the rest of the way in silence, except for the occasional involuntary swear every time Andy swerved to avoid hitting a raccoon. The cabin, unfortunately, was definitely on the raccoon side of town. 

*** 

It was very dark at the cabin—which he should have expected, given the lack of electricity. Andy didn’t bother to wait and light Ben’s way with the headlights; he’d merely swung the car in a loop and sped off, no doubt spurred on by April. 

And now Ben was alone in the dark. Why hadn’t he brought candles or oil lamps, or a flashlight? He was sure he’d seen all three of those things somewhere in their garage. He was sure he’d seen the oil lamps last night, when Leslie had been tearing through the multitude of still-unpacked boxes of things she hadn’t agreed to get rid of, hackles still raised against this Garth person, looking for her historical dresses.

“Wait, you’re spending the night at the cabin?” he’d asked. “With a strange man?” From what he’d heard about the filibuster thus far, which admittedly wasn’t much, the guy sounded like a harmless enough nerd. And Leslie could take care of herself; he knew that perfectly well. She’d probably be sleeping with a musket under the bed. 

Still, though. 

Leslie had shaken her head. “Nothing to worry about. He won’t last more than a few hours. I’ll be home by dinner.” 

That had seemed just fine to Ben, at the time. If Leslie was off being stubborn for the day, she’d stay out of his hair while he figured out the Waffle Day/Breakfast Day conundrum. Except she hadn’t been home by dinner. And then he’d gotten a phone call from Andy, informing him that Leslie wasn’t coming home at all. 

She was so goddamned stubborn sometimes. Impossibly stubborn. And impossibly thoughtful, and impossibly smart, and impossibly beautiful and sexy and cuddly and no, he wasn’t going to let _this_ be their first night apart as a married couple. The first night they spent apart was going to be for a good reason, like if one of them had a work trip or Leslie invented Sleepover Night and spent the night at Ann’s…wait, that wasn’t a good reason. One, Ann had enough holidays, and two, that would give him more holidays than she had. Even if he didn’t _want_ more holidays, shouldn’t he have more than Ann had? 

Nope, the first night they spent apart was going to be for a work trip only. Ben nodded to himself, just to confirm it. 

If only April hadn’t confiscated his phone. He could’ve used _that_ as a flashlight. 

Cautiously, he crept to the cabin’s front door, tripping only once on the way there. He’d expected the door to creak—doors on cabins always creaked in the dark—but this one didn’t. Once inside, he guided the door shut and took a deep breath, trying to orient himself. The cabin smelled of dust and…and fish oil? 

Good lord, this was ridiculous. 

He’d been to the cabin a few times before—Leslie had given him a few tours—so he knew the basic layout. There were two bedrooms, one in front and one in back, and he crept towards them.

A very faint glow flickered from under the door of one bedroom, so he headed towards that one, reasoning that it was way too early for Leslie to be asleep. She was probably knitting her tenth pair of socks by now. 

He gave the door a faint tap. 

“Garth, I already told you no,” hissed her voice. 

He listened for anything that might sound like she was aiming a musket at the door. 

“Leslie? It’s me.” 

Suddenly, the air was full of rustling—fabric, though, not metal. “Ben?” The bedroom door swung open without creaking, too, and Ben found himself staring at the hinges momentarily, instead of his wife. 

This changed when she grabbed him around the neck and dragged him into the room, the sleeves of her linen shift a tiny bit stiff against his skin. At that point, he closed his eyes and kissed her until they both ran out of breath. 

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, nudging the door closed with a wool-socked foot. “Wait. Is my breath gross? Garth wouldn’t allow toothpaste.” 

He shrugged. Her breath was fine, truthfully. “I didn’t want to go to bed without you.” 

“Oh, god,” Leslie groaned. She hadn’t let go of him all the way yet, and now she leaned her head against his chest. “I was just sitting in the uncomfortable chair, thinking about how stupid this is. Like, camping’s one thing, but why live like a pioneer when you don’t have to?” 

It was at that point that her first words sunk in. “Wait. You _already told Garth no_? What did he try to do?” And were there any bear traps in this cabin? He couldn’t shoot a gun, but he’d seen _Straw Dogs_ once, years ago. He could probably set up a bear trap. 

Leslie shook her head, and led him to the small bed in the middle of the room, where they sat. “Nothing. He’s harmless. And—and he’s really a lot more into this historical role-play stuff than I anticipated.” She sighed. “You smell good, like aftershave and Irish Spring. It’s really tempting to go home with you right now.” 

“Oh, we can’t go home.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He quickly explained about Andy and April absconding with his cell phone. 

“Well, mine’s in a pail in the main room,” she said. “If we need it. If the battery’s not dead.” 

“Okay.”

Now that he looked around, though, the cabin was kind of cool at night. Not as cool as, say, a nice hotel would be, but it had its charms. Or, one charm. It had one charm. 

“That nightgown is way more attractive on you than it should be,” he told Leslie. It was the truth. She was cute in anything, of course, but the old-timey muslin, her hair escaping from the little dustcap thingy, the soft, warm flickers of candlelight… 

She smiled. “You’re gonna make me lose this bet either way,” she said, settling back on the lumpy mattress. 

“Why?” He lay back too, squishing up against her on the tiny bed, which rocked dangerously. “And—ow. What is in this mattress?” 

“Straw and buffalo fur. And because you’re not complying with the contest rules.” 

“Because I drove here?” 

Leslie’s fingertips slid an inch or so under his hoodie, where they began twisting the fabric of his t-shirt. “Because you’re wearing modern clothing.” 

“Oh.” He swallowed. “Well, I don’t have a pioneer costume.” 

“I know. Hey, I was spinning wool earlier today. If I’m here long enough, I could make it into fabric and sew you some trousers.” 

They both chuckled at that. 

“You know, I would really prefer that you not be stuck in a cabin for that long.” 

“Or,” Leslie mused, ignoring him, “you could just take off your clothes.” 

Ben glanced at the bed they were lying on. Every time they moved, he noticed, little clouds of dust swirled up in the candlelight. And he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about having a dusty old quilt against bare skin. There were sheets under the quilt, but he was pretty sure he didn’t trust those either. No wonder he’d received so many disgusted text messages from Tom this morning. 

Immediately, Ben resolved not to think about Tom in the same context as beds, and shook his head to make the image of Tom in a Hugh Hefner bathrobe (and nothing else) go away. 

“I mean, I’ll take my clothes off too,” she continued, misinterpreting his head shake. “When you’re not looking, because trust me, these period undergarments are a major mood-killer.” 

“This _cabin_ is a major mood-killer,” Ben pointed out, which made Leslie pout a little. “I’m sorry, but Leslie, it’s gross in here. If we take our clothes off, we’re going to get fleas.” 

“That’s part of the adventure. Come on, Ben, where’s your pioneer spirit?” 

“I don’t even like _camping_. You know that.” 

“This is different,” she insisted. “We have walls and a floor.” 

“And mangy buffalo pelts.” 

“They’re not on the bed. They’re on the walls.”

“That leaves us with dusty, moth-ridden sheets and a moldy quilt.” 

Leslie sighed. “True.” 

“And a potential serial killer next door. I know you keep saying he’s harmless, but…”

She rolled over, turning herself into a little spoon, and they lay silently for a while, motionless save for his fingers playing against the bodice of her nightgown. 

After the candle had burned down half an inch or so, a little giggle vibrated through Leslie’s back. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she said. “I was just imagining you in a Daniel Boone outfit.” 

“Please don’t do that.” 

“Or a coonskin Davy Crockett cap.” 

“That—no. God, no.” 

“Once I had a dream that you were Paul Revere.” 

“I know,” he sighed, remembering all too well. “It was a weirdly specific dream.” And not even from the right geographical location or time period, really. 

Leslie rolled over and pushed up so that she hovered over him. “One if by land, two if by sea,” she said, licking her lips before she dived onto him. 

_There’s no possible way you can turn that into a sexy line_ , Ben thought. It was exactly what he’d said when she’d told him about the Paul Revere dream.

But she’d proven him wrong then, and she seemed well on her way to doing it again. And, he reminded himself, Paul Revere was definitely preferable to the time she’d had an erotic dream about _Little House on the Prairie_ and immediately gotten out of bed to search for the bonnet that was now hanging from a straight-backed wooden chair.

“No, turn around for a minute,” she muttered, slapping his hand away when he tried to reach under the nightgown. “I wasn’t kidding about the period-appropriate undergarments.” 

Obligingly, Ben closed his eyes. 

“Okay, you can open them again.” 

Leslie had removed not only the undergarments, but the nightgown as well. She’d unpinned her bun, too, and all of her sort of...glowed in the candlelight. 

At that point, Ben forgot there was an unknown weirdo in the next room. Suddenly everything seemed very, very, okay. 

“Oh, hi,” he said, automatically reaching out for her. 

She climbed back into bed, kneeling carefully on the wobbly bed. “I hope it’s okay if I left the socks on. The floor’s kind of gross.” 

The socks were kind of cute. 

He really hoped they didn’t get fleas from this. 

*** 

They awoke at the crack of dawn, aided first by a rooster and then, after they’d drifted back to sleep, by Garth banging metal milk pails together outside their window. 

_“Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark, she bounds before the gale; the mountain breeze from Bennadarch, is joyous in her sail…”_

And he was singing, a weak but enthusiastic baritone wavering over the freshly plowed field out back. 

“God, he’s up already,” Leslie muttered. She grabbed the arm he had wrapped around her waist and pulled it more tightly around her, as though it would somehow protect them both from a lunatic historical re-enactor. “What is that? Is that a sea shanty?” 

Ben yawned. “You’re usually up this early.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t sleep very well last night.” 

“Was it the lumps in the mattress, or the fact that this bed is barely big enough for one of us, or that there was a weirdo on the other side of the wall?” 

“All those things.” 

_“And Ronin's mountains dark hae sent their hunters to the sea; and each his ashen bow unbent, and gave his pasttime o’er.”_

Together, they untangled from each other and the buffalo pelt, and stretched, which didn’t go well. Working out all the kinks from the straw-filled mattress turned out to be a joint effort—he teased out a cramp in Leslie’s lower back; she expertly dug her elbow into a stubborn knot in his shoulder. 

“I want a shower,” she complained. “And I don’t want to wear that dress. I want to have coffee and go home with you.” 

“So let Garth win,” he said. “You kind of need a shower. We both smell like musty buffalo.” 

But, unsurprisingly, Leslie shook her head, removed her nightgown, and ordered him not to look while she put on the unflattering underwear and began the complicated process of petticoats. Ben took the time to examine his legs for flea bites. Everything seemed okay thus far, so he pulled his jeans on—and decided to wash all his clothes on extra-hot the instant he got home. And the shoes he was pulling on, too. 

“Okay,” Leslie said, letting out a huge breath. “Here goes day two as a pioneer woman. How do I look?” 

“Adorable.” He’d seen her in the purple dress before, but it was always a welcome sight. The cleavage was better in this dress than in the blue one. 

“Apron or no apron?” 

“No apron. No, wait.” He thought for a moment. “What’s your agenda?” 

“Getting Garth to break so I can get the hell out of here. And maybe some weaving, if he doesn’t break.” Leslie flung the apron down on the chair. “I don’t need an apron for either of those things.” 

“Hey, uh, when are Tom and Andy going to get here?” Whether or not Leslie came with him, he really wanted to wash off the cabin dust, and maybe even burn his clothes. 

“Well, they’re supposed to be here at eight.”

“But it’s Andy and Tom, so probably not any time soon.” 

“Probably not,” she admitted, twisting her hair back into a bun. “Crap, how am I going to explain you to Garth? You—you have to hide.” 

“Or I could introduce myself to Garth.” 

Leslie winced. “No, you don’t want to do that. He’s really weird.” 

“Obviously,” Ben said. “But I think I can handle it.” 

“Yeah, but would you want to?” She reached for her bonnet. “Wait. Actually, you might. His filibuster was all about what they should do for the next _Star Wars_ movie.”

The words were out of Ben’s mouth before he could stop them. “What’s his opinion on J.J. Abrams?”

“I don’t know. You know I don’t get that stuff. He started talking about a crossover with Marvel and something about a crystal, and then—”

Good lord. Garth _was_ a crazy person. “He wants Episode VII to be a _crossover with Marvel_?” 

“Ben? Where are you going?” 

“To talk about this,” he said. She clattered after him, untied bootlaces skittering across the wooden floors. 

“No, Ben, wait, you’ll make me—no, Ben, go for it!” 

He paused, confused. “What?”

“Talk to Garth about _Star Wars_ ,” she said. “If you can get him to do something anachronistic, he’ll lose and I can go home, where we have showers and toothbrushes. He’ll crack under the pressure, I know he will.” 

“Kiss me for luck,” he said, and she nodded. 

Much as he never wanted to have sex in the cabin again, Ben had to admit that feeling Leslie up through all the petticoats was pretty awesome.

“Go,” she said, breathlessly. “Go win this one for me.” 

He set his jaw, and nodded. 

“I have some questions for you about Lando Calrissian,” he called, marching confidently across the muddy field towards the odd little man and his milk pails. 

Garth faltered slightly, but regained his composure. “My good gentleman! Praise be, I know not this Calrissian of whom you speak. Did he arrive with the most recent wagon train?” 

Maybe this was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. 

When he got within ten feet of Garth, he panicked slightly. _Star Wars_ and J.J. Abrams—he could go up against anyone on those, he was sure of it. But Marvel? He’d always been a D.C. Comics guy… 

But there was no backing out now. He was going to do it. For Leslie, and for himself, and for a modern Pawnee with a modern town charter, where he could make Leslie laugh in public without worrying she’d be tried for witchcraft. And for the purity of two universes that didn’t have to cross over just because Lucasfilm and Marvel were both owned by the same parent company… 

Ben took a deep breath and pushed up his sleeves. “Yeah, he did,” he said. “And I think you know him. Just like I think you know a gentleman by the name of _Adam Warlock_.” 

Garth swallowed hard. 

*** 

Two days later, Ben stood on the dock with Leslie and Ann, waiting for the Ted ceremony to be over so they could get the JJ’s waffle iron out of Ann’s car. 

“Remember,” he muttered, “we offer a day, she counters with a month, we settle on a week.” 

Ann rolled her eyes. “Dude. I _know_.” 

“I know you know.” 

And after that, he had a movie date with his new buddy—which would, he hoped, end in a thorough and nuanced debate with a minimum of huzzahs. 

“Oh, god,” Ann said, suddenly. “Oh, god, don’t look.” 

“Why, what’s—oh, good lord.” He wanted to turn away, he really did, but he somehow couldn’t. 

_“I’m Ted!”_ yelled Andy. 

Pawnee was—and apparently always had been, Ben thought ruefully—a very special town.


End file.
